I Really Can't Stay
by L56895
Summary: Doctor Sanderson invites Nurse Kelly round for coffee. Number one in a series inspired by 'Baby It's Cold Outside.'


"I really can't stay, Lyman."

Ruth moved to stand from where she had been seated on the small couch in his home. It was a cold day, and the fire that he had lit in the living room was welcoming, but she pushed herself away from the comfort of the cushions in an attempt to spur some sort of action. His or hers, she wasn't sure. He had welcomed her with a coffee and a smile, fussed about making her feel comfortable until she had insisted he take a seat. Regardless, he had sat at a respectable distance from her, which disappointed her greatly, and his entire demeanour had stayed nervous while they made idle small talk and sipped their drinks. She had been waiting for years for him to realise how he felt, it had just taken a giant rabbit for him to manage it. After all that had happened, she had been looking forward to the time alone with him, expecting him to be buoyed by the small embraces and kisses they had shared the night they met Harvey, instead of restless and reticent. Now, he looked a little hurt and she wished she had stayed sitting, given him a little more time.

"Don't go yet, Ruth," he said softly, reaching out to touch her arm. It was the first time he had touched her since the night that Mr Dowd and Harvey had come to the sanitarium, the night that had changed them all so completely. That evening he had kissed her, pulled her close and pressed his lips to hers, but it was a week later and they had made no mention of the whole thing. Until he found her at the end of their shift the evening before and invited her round for coffee at his rooms in town. Her mother had been worried; she always did consider him to be too old, too harsh, too focussed on his work. But Ruth had seen a side of him that no one else saw; the insecurities that were masked by his abruptness on the job, the softness when he looked at her, the youthfulness that had been ravaged by his brief stint in the war and years of treating patients under the unforgiving gaze of Doctor Chumley.

"Don't go," he said again, softer this time, and rose to step closer to her. Without his white coat and the pomade he usually wore in his hair for work he looked so much younger; not handsome, as such, but boyish and charming. She wished he would kiss her again.

Tentatively, he reached out to touch her waist, smoothed his palm over the thick fabric of the dress she had chosen from her wardrobe that morning. It was one of her favourites, one that she had once worn when he took her dancing, before the stress of work pulled them apart. A small smile played at his lips and she wondered if he remembered that night; the one where he had asked her if she would ever consider marrying a man like him. It had almost been a proposal, if he hadn't lost his nerve and pulled away when the song ended. When he took her home he had kissed her chastely on the front porch, interrupted by her mother hurrying her back in to the house abruptly. Their next shift together he had been short with her, embarrassment winning out, the catalyst for them drifting back to casual acquaintances.

Then, she found herself being tugged forward gently, so that she was flush against his chest, and his lips were on her. He kissed her temple, her cheeks, the corner of her mouth, before she turned her face to capture his lips and he moaned softly as she did so.

"Stay with me," he gasped when he pulled back, "Be with me, Ruth. Marry me."

"Oh, Lyman." She felt the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. He held her firm against him, his hands slipping down to rest on her hips. Once he had held her similarly in his office, back when she was a fresh faced new nurse with a crush on the doctor, and she had let him move his lips against the sensitive skin that stretched along her temple during a moment of mutual impulse decisions. That had been before they had got to know one another properly; before he had confided in her some of the horrors he had seen as a young doctor in the war; before she had gotten a glimpse of the lost love that haunted him. What had begun as a playful crush, one which she giggled about with her girlfriends at the end of a shift, had morphed over time in to respect, understanding and caring. Her friends had teased her, speculated on what it would be like to go to bed with a man whose job it was to know the human psyche. At first she had laughed with them, blushed as some of the more worldly in her circle had postulated crudely about the way a man who got satisfaction from delving in to a warped mind might find his own pleasure. But as their relationship grew, from distant colleagues to almost-friends, she had grown embarrassed by the gossiping about him, had shut down the jokes sternly until they stopped entirely. She had ended up loving him, she'd never tried to hide it, but she had watched him fight against his own feelings for months.

Kissing her again, his grip on her tightened and she gasped at the slightly painful feel of his fingers digging in to her hips. If he noticed he said nothing, but his grip loosened when she slipped her hands up and around his back. When he pulled back their cheeks were flushed and hot, his lips still pursed, and she could feel his heart pounding when she brought a hand up to rest on his chest.

"I've been a fool, letting you ever slip away from me. I promise it won't happen again.

He said it with such sincerity, his eyes shining, that she let herself believe him. Guard down, she sobbed, pressed her face in to his chest and let him soothe her- soft voice, soft hands, soft kisses- until she realised she had given him no answer.

"Yes," she said quietly, "I'll marry you."

The expression on his face when she pulled back was enough to melt the last bit of apprehension inside her chest.


End file.
